


Uprooting

by busaikko



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post Episode: s05e20 Enemies at the Gate, Post-Canon, Relationship Talk, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:10:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/busaikko/pseuds/busaikko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets the news they'd both known was coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uprooting

Being on Earth means briefings and _debriefings_ and reports and people who know nothing but think they have a right to _supervise_ David's work. Tell him what to do.

"I'll tell them where they can shove their guidelines," he rants, pacing his room, scrubbing his hands through his hair.

John's sitting on the bed, leaning back with his weight on one hand. He waits for David to swing back towards him and then says, quiet but fervent, "We're going home. April sixteenth."

David stops short, rocking back on his heels. "Well. Good."

John's smile stretches wide, amused. "Glad you approve."

So David has to shove him back and pin him down, and make John stop teasing him. They're going _home_ , he thinks, feeling drunk on the knowledge, and gets John to fuck him through the mattress to celebrate.

Atlantis returns to Pegasus as quietly as its arrival was spectacular. Life quickly settles into comfortable routines, only occasionally interspersed with terror for John's safety. The McKay-Kellers get married; Torren turns three; the fifteenth anniversary of the fall of Sateda is marked by John's whole team shaving their heads. The growing-in stubble on John's head is more gray than brown, and John scratches it in annoyance as he tries to calculate when _their_ anniversary is.

"Which anniversary?" David asks, trying to approach the question scientifically. "First kiss? First date?" He taps his fingertips together, remembering. "First time you said, very touchingly, _You know I, I_ and started hyperventilating?"

John grabs a pillow and whips it hard in David's direction. David catches it.

Their life is good and comfortable. John's hair grows back; David changes from the hairstyle he's had from high school to short and spiky, and John says it looks _hot_. David doesn't think he's lying, considering the way John jumps him.

And then John gets the news they'd both known was coming, given how old John in and how long he's been stationed on Atlantis.

David doesn't know when John was told officially. He's pretty sure that John probably heard through the grapevine first, the esoteric network of aging SGC colonels stretched over two galaxies. John dropped the news over lunch, asking David to come by after work. Seven hours later, safe in his quarters, John still looks terrible: tense and jittery, face drawn, hands clenched.

It reminds David of John's reaction when DADT was recalled. He had expected John to be happier. But... "I've been lying to everyone's faces for the past twenty years," John said. "So, great, I can be queer now, but if I come out, I'm queer _and_ a liar." David had tried to say something, and John had talked right over him, ticking points off on his fingers. "Every time someone asked me if I had a date, if I was seeing anyone, what I did on leave, did I want kids, would I mind working holidays because it's not like I have family or plans or – " John had cut himself off, tossed his hands up, and changed the subject pointedly.

David thinks about that now, as he listens to John sounding absolutely dead while he explains his orders, even though he should be proud. David's proud of him. He wishes that was enough.

John's being promoted – about time, in David's completely biased opinion. He's also being reassigned. It's temporary, John says; _just three years, maybe four_. The US military is finally letting the SGC open a school. John's been banging on doors since returning to Pegasus to have something like this started up, where selected students can learn how to deal with aliens and alien cultures, how to work with advanced technology, how to fly spaceships. Rodney's pet name for the project is _No More Redshirts_ ; John has amassed chilling statistics on all the deaths incurred since the inception of the Stargate program that might have been prevented with more knowledge and better training. The Icarus investigation brought even more problems to light, and John had thrown himself into networking for funding, ruthlessly exploiting connections David hadn't know he had.

John won't be running the school, but they want him as head teacher. David thinks it sounds perfect for him.

Except that the people in charge don't know that John's gay and pretty much married – six years at the next anniversary of whatever they'd finally decided on. John made the decision years ago to pull David into the closet with him, and now....

David has no clue, except that John's really unhappy when he should be celebrating.

"It's going to be on Nifhel Base," John says, crossing his arms and leaning back against his desk. "It's... a rock, in space, with a stargate. Atmosphere and gravity are the site's only selling points. The buildings are prefab. It looks like a trailer park. On a rock. In space."

David sits on the bed and crosses his legs, waiting for John to get to a point, some point, any point.

"The gate's not supposed to be used for nonmilitary operations," John says. "Nifhel Base doesn't even have lichen. I asked," he adds, and David's nearly amused by the non sequitur. "When I took the tour, and we went through Hydroponics."

"Are you asking me to come with you?" David watches John's head drop, making him somehow look even more miserable.

"I was going to, until I found out the lichen thing," John says, after a long moment spent carefully putting his words together. "If I take the job I could probably swing something spousal. There's precedent. You could come. But it would suck for you. So I could _not_ take the job, and they wouldn't kick me out of the Stargate program, but I still wouldn't be on Atlantis."

David has no doubt that the SGC would not thoughtfully pick John's next placement based on the diversity of the local biosphere, and they still wouldn't make sure David had a place where John went. Because they still didn't know.

"I love Jay Brannan as much as the next boy," David says, as straight-faced as he can. "That doesn't mean I want to be your housewife."

John doesn't laugh, but he does look up enough to give David a wry quirk of his mouth.

"Get me the name of the person in charge, and we'll see if they can use me in Hydroponics. I've been dying to do more work with extreme environments. I'll put together some proposals. I'm sure I can get a grant. Government funding. You know." He returns John's raised eyebrows with one of his own, a look he gives to researchers who should know better. "Honestly, John."

"Okay," John says, and lets out his breath sharply, relief and hope stark on his face. "Good to know that's on the table."

David taps his fingers on the air and grins, the camp mad scientist impersonation that departmental meetings occasionally drive him to. "I'd rather have you on the bed. I could use the distraction while I'm plotting."

"The what, now?" John says, muffled a bit by the shirt he's pulling over his head.

After David's had one of the slow wet blowjobs that John is so _perfect_ at, John's non-vocal with desperation. David just barely gets John's pants out of the way and wraps his hand around John's dick before John's coming hard, shaking head to toe with the effort to keep quiet.

John stays the night, and the next morning he wakes David up early with strong coffee and athletic sex. John keeps an eye on the clock and is dressed for the day, hair combed and teeth brushed, by what David always thinks of as _sneak-out time_. But John doesn't leave; instead, he leans against David's desk, failing to look casual as he watches David make the bed.

"I'm going to tell the SGC," John says. "Do the paperwork. Might as well. Can't hurt." He gives David a crooked smile. "Nifhel Base will be a quarter the size of Atlantis."

"No secrets," David says, half declaration and half question.

"I'm starving," John says, and jerks his head towards the door. "Hurry up."

"Love you, too," David tosses over his shoulder with a sardonic air kiss, but he can't help feeling an edge of nerves. He's waited _years_ to be open about their relationship, and now. . . he tells himself he's being ridiculous to get butterflies in his stomach at the idea of walking into the mess hall with John. "You had better treat me right, John Sheppard."

"You get what you deserve," John says with a smirk that reminds David very strongly of where John's mouth was thirty minutes earlier. David catches the front of John's jacket as he walks to the door, kissing John to distraction and then shoving him out into the hallway.

When David sees John at dinner that night, John's expression is nearly perfectly blank, probably from the effort of not snapping at all the people who, David is sure, mean well with their congratulations and their curiosity. God knows David's ready for his fifteen minutes of fame to be long over; he's amazed by how many casual acquaintances have asked inappropriate questions today. John's never graceful when under scrutiny or when he's not in control of his life. David feels sorry for him.

But then Teyla puts her hand on John's arm and murmurs something, and John turns his attention from whatever Rodney's ranting about to look up, eyes scanning the crowd. When he sees David he grins, all the discomfort pushed aside, and right there is the reason, David thinks, that they've survived as a couple. They make each other happy, and they don't take their happiness for granted. David waves from the dinner line, and John points at the empty chair across from Teyla. David thinks he's pretty damn lucky in love.


End file.
